


I Think I Made You Up Inside My Head

by sparklylulz (sparklyulz)



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-04 15:19:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklyulz/pseuds/sparklylulz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hulk shoots him an inquisitive look. “Yes, I took the crusts off, I know you hate those.” Satisfied with this response, Hulk sticks out his hand to take the first sandwich.</p><p>“What's the magic word, Hulk? I raised you better than this.” Clint chides as he walks over with the bag of sandwiches he spent the past hour making while Stark and Cap bickered over who had the tighter suit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Think I Made You Up Inside My Head

**Author's Note:**

> First attempt at some quality Clint/Bruce. I'm sorry if there are errors, I'm like the shittiest proof reader of them all.

 

Clint Barton isn't the easiest man to like.

 

Most of the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents know this to be a written-in-stone fact, and the only other person who cares enough to get to know him is Natasha. It's not that Clint isn't a good guy – he just tends to get on nearly everyone's nerves, and those remaining few are usually set on edge by a guy like him.

 

If you get him started talking he can go on for ages and about 85 percent of what comes out of his mouth is sarcasm. Natasha knows it's a defensive mechanism – Clint doesn't let anyone anywhere near his heart.

 

Basically he's not exactly made for human interaction, so when the Avengers Initiative really gets going and all the superheroes bother showing up, it really shouldn't surprise anyone that Clint and Hulk become best friends within the first two months. On some level it really doesn't surprise Fury or Natasha, but there's still a lot of talk of monsters and protocol before Clint just disregards all the rules and sits down to talk to Hulk.

 

At first he just takes to hacking into the security lock on the tank until Fury finally realizes he's not going to give up. Natasha comes to see him regarding the Hulk situation with Barton, forcing him to see why he should let one of his agents risk being mauled to death.

 

“He's a lonely guy, sir, and nothing else we've tried has worked. Clint's an idiot, but he's not stupid. He knows what he's doing.” She reassures him, and Fury mutters something about paperwork and goddamn sob stories before giving Clint the go ahead.

 

It's not really easy to talk to a green giant who seems less than interested in what you have to say, but Clint returns every day for a month, sitting on the edge of the Hulk tank and jabbering away about sports and the circus and sometimes topics he wouldn't talk about to his closest co-workers.

 

“You remind me of me, y'know? Ain't got a family, just the _'Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement, and Logistics Division.'_ ” He mimics in Coulson's cool robotic-like voice. He rolls his eyes before taking a bite of the apple he brought in with him, watching Hulk idly examine his fingernails.

 

“I'm bored, too, buddy.” Clint sighs, stretching out his legs and resting his head. The air is calm and cool in the Hulk tank, and he didn't even know what time it was, but he didn't particularly care either.

 

Thinking back to the first few days in this tank near a violent Hulk growling at him with a look that said it would be no hardship on him to take Clint apart limb from limb seemed laughable now. Mostly they sat in silence, but Hulk never growled or made any threatening movements. Clint was willing to call this progress.

 

“I reckon you're just lonely,” Clint breathes, eyes closed, reaching to pull the apple up and instead feeling a warm mist on his face.

 

Most men upon opening their eyes to find a pair of giant green orbs staring back at them would not stay calm. However, Agent Barton prides himself on not being most men.

 

“Whoa, buddy, if you wanna get to first base you gotta buy me dinner before–” But Hulk effectively shuts Clint up by grabbing the apple out of his hand and throwing it in his own mouth before settling back in his own section of the tank.

 

“ _Hun._ ” Hulk huffs after a minute and Clint nods, springing to his feet, intent on finding someone on this goddamn base to get this creature some food, even if that meant whipping up something himself.

 

As he approached the hatch Hulk let out a small noise, and turning back Clint threw him wide grin.

 

“I'll be back soon, big guy, promise.”

 

*

 

The Avengers are about the most dysfunctional team of people Clint has ever seen in his entire life, and he'd worked for a circus. Stark's ego alone was enough to fill a room, and adding a demigod and super solider with serious issues was just asking for trouble.

 

Assembling them all in one place without beating the living shit out of each other was all Fury could pray for and mostly Clint and Natasha felt they didn't have time for the daddy issues this entire team seemed to carry.

 

Clint was lucky, he could claim he was just going to the Hulk tank and escape the general bitching and pissing contests while Natasha always seemed to have more important work to do. Most of the babysitting fell to Coulson, who was the best with a taser anyway.

 

“Hey, big fella, I brought some homemade sandwiches,” grins Clint as he makes his way down with all the agility a former circus performer carrying a container of sandwiches can manage.

 

Hulk shoots him an inquisitive look. “Yes, I took the crusts off, I know you hate those.” Satisfied with this response, Hulk sticks out his hand to take the first sandwich.

 

“What's the magic word, Hulk? I raised you better than this.” Clint chides as he walks over with the bag of sandwiches he spent the past hour making while Stark and Cap bickered over who had the tighter suit.

 

If those two would just get a room everyone's problems would be solved.

 

“' _Ease_.” Hulk grunts, looking terribly like an irritated teenager told to do the dishes. The sandwich is so small in his hand Clint has to hide his smirk, pulling out his own and taking the first bite.

 

“I wonder if the human version of you is as dandy as you are,” Clint voices over his food, watching Hulk chew messily. “Oh for Christ's sake, close your mouth while you chew!”

 

Hulk threw his dinner buddy a look that very clearly said _bitch, please_ and continued to munch on his own food. Clint lets out a snort and it snowballs into a full blown laugh, Hulk looking up in slight surprise at the sound.

 

The expression in his soft green eyes seems to marvel at Clint's ability to be completely relaxed around him. He stands carefully and shuffles over next to Clint, plopping down next to the archer, and sticking his hand in the bag for another sandwich.

 

Natasha stumbles past the tank later to see Hulk's head calmly splayed in Clint's lap, the latter's hand resting in the dark and messy curls of the green giant. For a fleeting moment she drops her stoic expression and smiles slightly.

 

*

 

About three months in there's an accident during a fight in the city and Clint ends up pinned under a rather large piece of building and he's pretty sure some part of his lower region is broken but all of his attention is caught by the familiar roar of his best friend.

 

Looking around he catches sight of Hulk in the middle of being pelted with fire from the enemy forces and roaring from both pain and anger.

 

“Hulk! HULK!” Clint finds himself screaming, trying to pull himself out of under the debris, “GODDAMNIT, SOMEONE GET TO HULK!” He yells into his com, still futilely trying to move, ignoring the stabs of pain running through his right leg.

 

Hulk's roars are like torture for Clint, so close and yet unable to get to him. “ _CLINT!_ ” Came the next roar and without realizing what he was doing, Clint grabbed the last arrow from his back and jerked the crossbow around.

 

Stark was fighting above Hulk, but in a moment of panic all Clint could think was _change him so they can get him out of here._

 

Clint never missed. Ever. Not even when he was in crippling pain. In one shot the tranquilizer dart landed squarely in Hulks left thigh and the giant green Hulk was on the ground.

 

The pain was overwhelming, but just before he closed his eyes he raised the com to his dry and cracked lips once more, “Get him out of here, Natasha. _Please_.” He can see the tiny frame of the limp man, the familiar curls on his head dancing in the breeze.

 

The world goes black pretty quickly after that.

 

When he wakes there's a faint beeping noise he associates with hospitals coming from somewhere near by. He knows he's in the S.H.I.E.L.D. hospital ward from the general governmental air around him. He glances around and rolls his eyes.

 

“Cap got the full VIP suite, and Fury can't even spring for a single room?” The bed next to his is blocked from view by a curtain and he pretends he doesn't particularly care who's on the other side of it.

 

The beeping was coming from behind the curtain, and the curiosity is almost too much for Clint. If he could get up out of the bed he would peep between the curtains, but the current state of his right leg was enough to keep him immobile for a while.

 

Natasha comes by soon after he's awake to debrief him, he grins at her when she walks in the door and she rolls her eyes.

 

“You're an idiot.” She snaps, but he knew it was really her way of expressing affection. Her sharp eyes take in his leg and he taps on the thick white cast.

 

“Think I can get the Avengers to sign it out of guilt? It'll be like the middle school experience I never got.” Clint's words are drowned out by the scathing look Natasha throws him from her perch on the end of his bed.

 

She straightens her collar, “You could have died, Clint. If you'd kept moving you might have crushed some other part of you.”

 

He sighs, rolling his eyes. “I couldn't let them hurt him, Nat. He's the closest thing to a best friend I've ever had.” It's probably a really pathetic thing for a grown man to be admitting, but he didn't really care.

 

“Did you get him out? Dr. Banner?” Clint asks, the name tasting unfamiliar on his tongue after so many months of not hearing it.

 

Her eyes flit to the bed next to him and he follows her gaze, “He's stable. He hasn't woken yet.” She responds quietly, not having to tell him who is occupying the same room as him.

 

There are a lot of emotions that flit through Clint's mind upon hearing this piece of information. Ultimately, he feels weird about having Dr. Banner in his room. He knows they know each other – but not really. He knows Hulk. How do you explain your relationship with someone's alter ego?

 

“We thought it'd be best for you to be here when he wakes. Hopefully he'll remember you.” Natasha says before she stands to leave, handing him a peanut butter sandwich, showing that she does care, underneath it all.

 

Coulson is the next to drop by, face as unreadable as usual, carrying a sharp black ballpoint pen in one hand and a stack of forms in the other. Apparently having a building collapse on you requires a lot of government paperwork.

 

“What, no balloons? No chocolates?” Clint asks his fellow agent as he sets the forms down on the bedside table.

 

Coulson hands the pen over, “You know I can't show favoritism.” The dry sarcasm of Coulson reminds Clint of some form of robot. He wonders if Fury programmed him himself or had some intern do it for him. He resolves to ask Coulson sometime when he isn't near a taser.

 

*

 

Dr. Banner doesn't wake up for nearly five days after Clint and it's not like Clint can go anywhere, with one leg in a heavy cast and half his ribs in varying degrees of injured. He puts in a request for some books and is a little surprised when Steve brings them.

 

“I just brought some of the books they gave me when I moved in.” Steve says in his quiet and comforting voice. Steve reminds Clint of the dad he always wished he'd had, and since he was about a hundred years old, it kind of makes sense.

 

“Thanks, Cap. How're Tony and Thor?” He only asks because it seems the polite thing and he hasn't seen anyone from the team in a few days.

 

“Tony left for California yesterday and I believe Thor is trying to learn how to play video games.” Cap says, like the latter half of the sentence makes little sense to him, but Clint smiles back.

 

In grabbing the books he adds, “Tell Thor that if I ever get out of this godforsaken room, I'll teach him.”

 

With the promise to do just that Cap leaves and Clint picks up the nearest book to him, idly examining it. _Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_ , it's almost impossible to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He knows why Fury gave this book to Cap, and he cracks it open, examining the inside flap.

 

The curtain is still drawn around Dr. Banner's bed, but Clint once heard somewhere that reading to patients can sometimes help and if Banner never wakes up he'll never see Hulk again so he turns to the first page and starts reading.

 

He reads for four days in a row, non-stop for hours, his voice never giving out, until he stumbles across a familiar paragraph. It was one he could remember reading as young man during trips between cities, and one that he thought constantly before climbing into the Hulk tank for the first time.

 

_"With every day, and from both sides of my intelligence, the moral and the intellectual, I thus drew steadily nearer to the truth, by whose partial discovery I have been doomed to such a dreadful shipwreck: that man is not truly one, but truly two."_

 

“Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,” comes a soft voice behind the curtain. “It's funny, I never thought I'd be the one to prove that quote right.”

 

The squeak of the curtain being pulled back echoes in the tiny room and Clint glances over to see the thin man who'd been sharing a room with him for nearly a week. Whatever he had expected of Bruce Banner, it was not the sight that lay before him.

 

He'd never been able to read Banner's file, it was top secret military intel, so he hadn't even seen a grainy picture taken from far away. The thin man opposite him with messy curls and freckles looked the least like Hulk as you could get. In fact, Banner looked like one good gust of wind might do him in. The tired shadow under his dark eyes was enough to make Clint want to grab him a sandwich, let alone how small the doctor's wrists were.

 

“How long have you been awake?” Clint asks, eyes transfixed on the dark curls forming a halo around Banner's head.

 

He's not sure why, but the only thing he can think for several minutes is _'This is the prettiest man I have ever seen.'_

 

“Probably twenty minutes.” Is the quiet response, and then without any lead in, “I'm sorry, but who are you?”

 

Clint was sort of expecting this reaction, but that didn't mean it hurt any less. How was he supposed to say _I'm your best friend, but the other side of you_ without coming across as some sort of madman.

 

“Agent Clint Barton, most call me Hawkeye. I, uh, know Hulk.” He breathes, “I make him sandwiches.” _I'd like to make you sandwiches, too_. He doesn't add the last bit out loud, pretty sure that it would probably be the fastest way to a restraining order.

 

“You... make him sandwiches?” Bruce struggles with this piece of information, eyebrows knitted together.

 

Before either man can react Fury is in the room, the base doctor with him to poke and prod Banner before putting him in a wheelchair to debrief him in the conference room.

 

“No, it's fine, I didn't want to come anyway!” Clint calls after them, picking the book back up off his bed. He wonders why idly when Hulk will be back.

 

He's sort of lonely without the big guy.

 

*

 

He's released from the hospital ward while Bruce is still off being tested and poked, and Clint isn't 100 percent sure that's the best way to keep a guy from Hulking out, but that's why they don't let him run the place – too much common sense. He calmly leaves the book on the doctor's bed, and hobbles into his own set of wheels before finding an elevator.

 

He wonders how life will be with Banner- will they ever speak? What would they talk about? That's if Fury will even let him be around the other agents, but Clint knows Fury will probably want to thrust him in the team bonding time with Thor, Stark, and Cap. The big four would at last be able to communicate.

 

Somewhere, deeper than he'd like to admit, the idea of those four being chummy kind of hurt. When it was Hulk, the only person who understood him was Clint. He knew every facial movement, all the half words, and even most of the roars, but with Banner he could barely read the guy's mood, let alone practically understand every move he made.

 

“I heard you talked to Dr. Banner?” Natasha asks while he's sitting around base with a broken leg and cracked ribs. All the other kids get to go out and play.

 

Clint idly is polishing his bow, “Yeah. He's a weird dude. Too chill.”

 

Natasha lifts a perfectly sculpted eyebrow towards her friend, “You can just admit you're jealous, you know.” Her words are perfectly uninterested, but Clint knows her too well to think that she doesn't want to know all the details.

 

“I'm not jealous that the team gets to spend time with that curly haired hippy. I just wish the green version of him were still around.” He says neutrally, not making eye contact, which he knows won't help his case at all.

 

It's quiet in the empty staff room, the cool metallic walls remind him of science fiction films. He briefly contemplates asking Fury if he can let Hulk watch E.T.

 

“They told him about you and Hulk – he didn't believe Fury at first.” Clint's brow furrows and he thinks that Banner doesn't give the green guy enough credit, but on the other hand, Clint knows how it feels to be terrified of yourself.

 

He doesn't say anything in response, instead allowing his gray eyes to fix on the string of his bow, and trying not to think of Bruce Banner or Hulk before he could start feeling that familiar ache in his chest again.

 

*

 

Banner has his own lab on the S.H.I.E.L.D. base, but Stark had been horrified by how under equipped the space was. It was all part of his master plan of trying to get the Avengers living under one roof, and Clint was all up for it, seeing as Stark's a billionaire.

 

“Be careful, Stark, offering toys to your new friends? Cap might get jealous.” Clint snarks over a debriefing at headquarters.

 

It's the first time he's been in the same room as Banner in over a week, and he's avoiding eye contact like the plague while Stark prattles on about the benefits of his tower for holding the team.

 

“Can you contain _him_ there, were something to happen?” Banner's soft voice surprises Clint, who looks around in slight irritation at the question.

 

“You don't need to _contain_ him. You just need to feed him and maybe read to him a bit and he's right as rain.” Clint doesn't mean for all the words to slip out, but he can't help but defend his green friend. “He isn't a monster, he's just lonely. Needs someone to talk to him.”

 

The look on Bruce Banner's face is the most intense emotional display Clint's seen in quite sometime. It seems to be a cross between irritation and awe, his tired eyes still unsure of this agent and exactly what the hell he was playing at.

 

“Look, if I move there, he'll be fine. Fury and Natasha both know that, so looks like you're gonna get your sorority after all, Stark.”  
  
  
Fury seems to just want all of this out of his metaphorical hair and tells Natasha she needs to move in as well. It's mostly to keep the rest of team in check and make sure they didn't do something stupid like kill each other.

 

By the time he gets everything transported to Stark Tower, (and by everything it's mostly just different clothes, some books, and his collection of foreign coins he'd started during his time in the circus), it's nightfall and the rest of the team has finally managed to assemble in the large living area.

 

“This is a mighty house indeed, my friend!” Thor booms, taking in the large couches and flatscreen televisions. Thor had developed a slightly unhealthy love of soap operas, which Fury was still very _not happy_ about.

 

“The bedrooms are all located down the hall, I've color coded the doors. Mine's gold, for obvious reasons,” Stark smirked, pointing a hand at said door, “Cap's is blue, Thor's is red, Natasha's is black, Hawkeye's is purple, and Dr. Banner's is green.”

 

He looked so proud of himself for this color coordinating system that Clint couldn't even bring himself to throw a barb, it would just be too cruel. Hobbling on crutches makes trying to get to his room fastest pretty hard and it's just him and Banner left in the living area after a few moments.

 

“I hope you heal quickly,” Bruce says quietly and he sounds like he truly means it. _The bastard_ , Clint adds mentally.

 

With a shrug Clint speaks, “I've broken bones worse in the circus–” He cuts himself off, remembering that this isn't Hulk. Banner has the same comforting air around him as Hulk sometimes did, and it set Clint's teeth on edge. He didn't want to feel like he could just say anything he wanted to – that kind of vulnerability was dangerous for a man like him.

 

“Fury let me read your file.” Bruce says calmly, the picture of serenity in his loose white pants, bare feet, and purple shirt. Clint half expected him to just roll out a yoga mat at any second and start working on his zen.

 

“Of course he did.” Clint answers, crossing his arms in a defensive stance that really isn't necessary against a guy who probably weighs 100 pounds soaking wet. “He likes to let other people into my business.” That's why Natasha had decided to approach him to begin with.

 

Bruce's thin fingers were fumbling around the pair of glasses he'd just taken off his face, but his eyes found Clint's and for a second it felt like this strange and thin man could see into his very soul.

 

“I just wanted to say sorry about it.” He finally manages get out. “You really care about Hulk, and he hasn't felt that in a long time.” There's something sad about his tone, but Clint isn't sure what it is.

 

Banner doesn't say anything more, just stares out the wide windows at the New York skyline, and for the first time Clint feels something stir in his chest at this thin and lost man. He really isn't that different from Hulk, in the end.

 

“Banner, do you want to grab something to eat downtown?” Clint asks, thinking they're pretty fucking stupid for being two lonely people and not bothering to get to know each other.

 

Bruce looks up and the shock of being invited somewhere is clearly written all over his face, it sort of breaks Clint's heart.

 

“Yeah, that sounds great. Uh, let me grab some shoes...” He says quietly, turning to find his abandoned sandals.

 

 _Hippies_. Clint scoffs mentally, watching Bruce pull on his shoes and straighten up, ready to go.

 

*

 

They end up at a diner that Clint swears they destroyed on one of their last outtings, and he mentally makes a note to check and see if that's why his pay was docked for the last month.

 

It's slow going with Clint's crutches, but he refuses to get back in that damn chair – it just seemed much too permanent. Besides, he loved the air of the city at night ruffling through his hair, it made him feel like much more than just some guy in a tight suit.

 

Bruce didn't really seemed to enjoy being out in public, or near other humans in general. It's not like the reason behind it was a secret, but it was still super depressing for Clint to watch. Every car engine seemed to set him on edge, and when they finally got to the diner he breathed a huge sigh of relief.

 

Clint ordered two burgers and a plate of fries for himself, and Bruce ordered some kind of omlete and ate about three bites of it before he looked up to Clint, the awkward silence threatening to kill both of them.

 

“What kind of sandwiches?” Bruce asks, like they're in the middle of a conversation, and Clint's mouth isn't unattractively stuffed with french fries.

 

“Uh, what?” He manages after choking down the food, watching Bruce idly examine his own half eaten plate.

 

“You said you made Hulk sandwiches... what kind?” He doesn't make eye contact the second time, almost as if he's ashamed to be asking. Clint can't help wondering if he's ashamed that he can't remember.

 

He pushes his own plate aside and looks at the scientist, “Peanut butter mostly. No crusts though, he doesn't like them. Occasionally he'd want an apple, too.”

 

Bruce smiles a little, and Clint is struck by the sight. It's the first time he's ever seen him actually look like he didn't want to jump off a bridge if he was left alone long enough. There's a freckle right next to Bruce's mouth that disappears into his dimple when he smiles, and the archer finds himself entranced by the sight of it.

 

“I love peanut butter,” Bruce says quietly, eyes trained on the table once more, but the smile hasn't disappeared.

 

“Yeah, well, at least you chew with your mouth closed.” Clint says off handedly, but Bruce's eyes snap up and suddenly he's laughing. It's a genuine and gutteral sound bursting from the scientist and without thinking about it, Clint is laughing too.

 

It takes a few minutes for them to stop laughing like two crazy men, but it feels good after so many months of having nothing to laugh about.

 

Bruce takes a few deep breaths to steady himself before evenly raising his head to look Clint directly in the face, “Why did you want to go into the tank? He could've killed you.”

 

This was the question Clint had been expecting for days and days, but Bruce didn't have the same irritated look in his eye that most people did upon asking the question. Fury wanted to send him to a head shrink after Clint announced his desire to spend time with Hulk. Maybe it was just because he's a crazy bastard in general, but Clint had never felt any anticipation or fear before or after deciding on climbing in the Hulk tank.

 

“He reminded me of myself,” Clint sighs after a momentary pause. “Alone. No family. No friends. I just wanted him to not feel alone, and I knew he wasn't just some brainless monster, unlike everyone else.”

 

Being open and honest and talking about feelings isn't exactly Clint's forte, but Bruce has that _I can keep all of your secrets_ vibe, and really he sort of did know all Clint's secrets – he just couldn't remember them right now.

 

Bruce doesn't push it any further, though, which Clint is very grateful for. Instead he eyes Clint's broken leg, “I know you saved me, and I've been trying to figure out how to thank you-”

 

“I panicked, Banner. Lost my cool and I knew I had to get him – _you_ – out of there. I could've gotten you killed.” Clint's not really one for beating around the bush, but there's a wry smile on Bruce's face when he responds.

 

“That doesn't mean you didn't care.” He stands slowly, putting out his hand to help Clint up onto his crutches.

 

It's probably a funny sight -- this skinny, freckled hippy pulling up a much heavier man than himself with ease, but Clint can't focus on anything other than the warmth of Bruce's hand over his own.

 

“So, thanks. For caring.” Bruce says quietly, handing one of the crutches to Clint, his hand still firmly in place over Clint's. For a second the archer doesn't want him to let go, he just wants to remain in this tiny diner with their hands connected forever.

 

Bruce shoots him another shy smile and for half a moment Clint's brain malfunctions and he wonders what that smile would taste like against his own. The thought is broken when a car horn goes off outside, and they break apart slowly, ready to pay their bill.

 

They walk back to the tower in silence, and when they finally get to their new home Clint finally manages to speak.

 

“I'm always gonna be there, Banner. I'm always gonna to have his back in a fight, and I'm always gonna make sure he eats with his mouth closed.”

 

Bruce turns briefly, hand gently laying across the green door which marks his bedroom.

 

“I'm pretty sure he knows that,” Banner smiles in return. “And you can call me Bruce.”

 

He disappears into his room just as Clint says, “Okay... Bruce.”

 

Clint decides he likes how the name tastes on his tongue before pushing his way into his own bedroom. As he's falling asleep he makes a note to tell Stark to stock up on the peanut butter, because he's going to figure out how to make everything dish involving it.

 

 


End file.
